Corporations were never afraid of flies buzzing inside a cage.
Even if the flies filled the cage wall to wall—
They were still just flies.
In this world, corporations only ever considered other corporations to be true rivals.
Street gangs were like headless flies—hot-blooded, impulsive, disorganized. Annoying to swat, perhaps, but predictable.
They fed on what corporations discarded.
Corps were different.
No matter how much people hated them for stealing freedom, crushing lives, and tangling the world into corporate knots—
They had to admit something:
Unified doctrine.
Modern organizational structure.
Algorithmic governance.
Data, contracts, industrial inheritance.
Weapons capable of leveling cities.
Lunar development programs.
Profit-driven expansion stretching into orbit.
Ordinary people, even if they rejected corps ideologically, had nowhere else to shine.
Either they complied—
Or they rotted in the street.
The couple dreaming of the Moon?
They didn't have lunar transport capability.
The kid trying to save a dying parent?
No medical research infrastructure.
The rebel screaming about "the system"?
Aside from screaming over a trash guitar track, he couldn't even finish reading a technical manual before drifting into braindance clips.
Corps didn't treat gangs as threats.
But something subtle was shifting.
The gangs now possessed:
The technology corps hadn't been cataloged.
Manufacturing pipeline corps couldn't trace.
And most critically—
Organization.
This was the first time "Executioner" had seen gangs observe a shared boundary rule at scale.
The junk-metal caravan crushed the European mercs and rolled clear of Corporate Plaza's perimeter.
Once outside corp jurisdiction, the Valentinos fanned out, hunting the fleeing mercenaries and splinter gangs.
Night City already had too many power structures.
They weren't strong enough to override corporate governance yet—
But they wouldn't tolerate a new order encroaching.
Meanwhile—
Power grids across Night City began to fluctuate.
Night Corp noticed first.
Technically, Night Corp had founded Night City.
It was CEO Richard Night who bought this land and developed it into the metropolis that bore his name.
Residential blocks, municipal halls, transit infrastructure—
All Night Corp assets.
In a Charter Hill luxury residence, Jefferson Peralez was engaged in a holo-call with a Night Corp public relations executive.
On the wall screen, chaos streamed live.
Both men spoke calmly, even as feeds from media, private security analysts, and crisis consultants flickered across their retinal overlays.
The executive wore the classic American elite aesthetic—polished hair, tailored suit, precise speech.
Peralez liked that.
No punk fashion.
No overt profit talk.
Textbook political language.
The Night Corp executive sighed.
"The damage is substantial. Militech's hardware received massive exposure. Arasaka's private security inquiries are surging. Kang Tao's active defense systems are trending. Even Petrochem's rocket fuel has new orders."
"Rest assured," Peralez replied smoothly. "Hamburger King is ambitious, yes—but principled. If you analyze his pattern—"
"He leaves destruction wherever he goes. Facilities explode. Power grids fail. Border walls collapse. Elevated highways detonate."
"Yes. But he only targets active combatants."
"Shrapnel doesn't discriminate."
Peralez leaned forward.
"Those unstable devices were seeded in the city. Would you prefer an unpredictable detonation later—or a controlled flashpoint now?"
The executive paused.
Predictable risk was always preferable.
"Provided he aligns with us. If you lose the election—"
"I won't," Peralez said firmly. "He doesn't want the world to collapse. Neither do I."
The executive nodded slowly.
"I hope you're right. We're counting on you."
"And I on you."
They raised glasses—
Then the executive's optics flared bright blue.
Data density spiked visibly.
Across Night City, lights flickered.
Some districts went dark entirely.
Peralez collapsed, convulsing.
The Night Corp executive's neck sparked with arc discharge.
Communications degraded.
He forced priority channel allocation through interference.
All hidden pulse devices had activated.
Muramasa.
The rogue AI had escalated.
He watched Peralez seize on the floor.
If the electromagnetic disturbance affected Charter Hill—
Then it would affect Mayor Rhyne's residence, too.
And Muramasa's devices weren't limited to EMP functions.
The chaos exceeded projections.
But chaos created opportunity.
[Blue Eyes: "Life Is Short" operation advancing to emergency phase. Extract Peralez.]
Then another realization struck.
If Charter Hill was affected—
So was Rhyne.
[Blue Eyes: Monitor Rhyne residence. Continuous feed.]
[Multi-channel intercept: Dante: "Sure thing. That'll cost extra."]
Off the Night City coastline—
The Arasaka aircraft carrier Kujira descended from hover mode into full maritime deployment.
Saburo Arasaka did not require flashy combat implants.
His optics were minimal augmentation.
He had Arasaka's data lattice in his eyes.
City grid fluctuations registered cleanly in his interface.
"Those who blind themselves fear the ugliness of reality. They drown in illusion."
"Rhyne has lived long enough."
A deeper conspiracy had been in motion long before his arrival in Night City.
Now it was time to execute the inner layer.
Only one loose thread remained—
A Moon-based intelligence operative who had escaped containment.
"Upon landing—confirm target status immediately."
"Hai."